


you should know that maybe you're the best

by scoutshonour



Series: home is wherever i’m with you [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 02:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14632074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: “Ten minutes and we’re out, okay? Ten minutes.”“Ten minutes,” Nancy and Steve repeat, and Jonathan already doesn’t believe them.or: a midnight run to Walmart because Nancy has a sudden craving for Steve’s pasta and Jonathan tries to keep up with his kinda-drunk partners





	you should know that maybe you're the best

**Author's Note:**

> title from axwell ingrosso's "more than you know"
> 
> wassup i don’t know what this is but here ya go
> 
> takes place in the same universe as my other stoncy fic “you could be the one to make me feel something” but you don’t need to read that to read this 
> 
> just know that steve and nancy live in an apartment together and jonathan is their next door neighbor!

_You’re not bringing a jacket?_

_Nah, it’s just a quick run,_ Jonathan had told Nancy confidently right before they’d left the apartment. Steve and Nancy had spent a damn eon searching their apartment for their jackets, making Jonathan relieved he hadn’t touched any of the Corona laid out during their movie night. They eventually found their jackets in their joint closet and Jonathan already knew it was going to be a long night.

After they hop off the bus to walk the rest of the fifteen minutes to Walmart, it takes him about five minutes to regret that decision and because Jonathan’s Jonathan, too embarrassed and reluctant to ever ask for help, he doesn’t say anything. Even if the March wind bites at his exposed skin, even if he shivers, even if he’s starting to forget what warmth feels like.

Pride and all.

He just squeezes onto Steve’s a hand a little tighter, grounding his teeth to keep from chattering, and eagerly listens to Nancy vent about the recent episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

Neither of them watch the show and have the barest of ideas of what she’s talking about, but it’s nice to hear her talk, to see her wild hand gestures and the passion crackling in her voice—Jonathan’s pretty sure they could listen to her talk about cabbage for twelve hours and still watch her with amazement.

“I just …” She stops, heaving out a deep sigh. “I want them to be _happy._ ”

“Nance, are you crying?” Steve asks incredulously, swinging their intertwined hands back and forth, his lips curving downwards into a frown.  

She quickly snaps, “ _No,_ ” but Jonathan can see her wiping the corner of her eyes and pretends not to notice. Buzzed Nancy is a national treasure, but he’s pretty sure she won’t hesitate to hit him in the shoulder no matter how inebriated she is.  It’s also extremely cute that she’s tearing up over fictional characters, how badass, visits-a-shooting-range-once-a-month Nancy Wheeler still has a gigantic heart.

The Walmart begins to come into view as they continue to walk down what appears to be the longest fucking sidewalk in the world, the streets empty except for them. Sometimes that’s how the world feels to Jonathan—like it’s just the three of them, floundering their way through life. It’s dark and honestly terrifying, walking into the unknown, but that horror is eased when he knows he’s not doing it alone.

“Byers,” Steve suddenly says, his firm voice startling Jonathan and shaking him out of his thoughts. “Take my jacket.”

“ _Harrington,_ ” he replies, carefully ennunicating each syllable, “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not, dumb ass, you’re shivering. You’ll catch a cold, and if you catch a cold, I’ll catch a cold, and then Nance will catch a cold, and we’ll all be sick and miserable, and I can’t be able to kiss or touch _either_ of you, and that’s just unacceptable—”

Jonathan thinks about how precious the lilt in his voice is and how warped his logic is, a retort about how kissing and having sex wouldn’t worsen their conditions and wouldn’t make them more sick—at least, he _thinks—_ when Nancy interjects with a sly, “ _I_ can keep you warm.”

He has no clue what she means until she skips next to him, cocooning herself into his side, and flinging her arms around his torso. “Are you warm?”

“Um, yes?” He doesn’t know how to explain that he’s _always_ warm with them, settling on a kiss on her forehead as she protectively tightens her arms around him.

“Do you want to be warmer?”

Before Jonathan can answer Steve, his arms sling around Jonathan’s broad shoulders, head tucking into the crook of his shoulder. With his girlfriend and boyfriend tightly wound around him, walking forward is like carrying a weight—but it’s not burdensome, not at all, not with the blanket of warmth they’re enshrouding him in. Even if he is awkwardly waddling forward, his cheeks flush and his heart is full. They’re so unbelievably adorable and it’s impossible not to feel loved, so he pulls them closer and thanks the stars and every God he can think of that he’s here, right now, with them.

“We’re good at this, Nance.” Steve’s breath tickles Jonathan’s ear.

Nancy hums in agreement, reaching over to grab Steve’s hand again. “The best.”

“The bestest.”

Jonathan manages a smile. “How much did you guys drink?”

“Shh,” Nancy scowls. “Accept us as your human-blankets, Jonathan.”

They approach the entrance, hand in hand in hand, the doors automatically sliding shut when they step inside. Steve and Nancy reluctantly disentangle themselves from Jonathan, and he can still feel the imprint of them on his skin, already missing their arms around him.

He turns around, putting his hands out to point at the both of them before they can wander away.

“Ten minutes and we’re out, okay? Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” Nancy and Steve repeat, and Jonathan already doesn’t believe them.

He’s validated when Steve’s eyes widen and he skips over to the fruits and vegetables sections with a cry of, “Baby carrots!”

“What do _baby carrots_ have to do with pasta?” Jonathan heaves out a sigh, walking after him, exasperated.

“Everything, Jonathan. Everything,” Steve says solemnly, holding eye contact for a second too long before happily examining cases of baby carrots.

He looks to his side and Nancy’s _gone._ She’s annoyingly stealthy and Jonathan’s seconds away from full-on entering panic mode until something rams into his back and he hears a sharp “ _whee!”_ He whips around, inwardly seething, but when he sees her and her bright grin, he melts.

She’s beaming, pulling the cart back and forth experimentally. “I got us a cart!”

“Ha, Nancy Wheeler _wheeled_ into Jonathan—“

Nancy giggles, steering the cart towards Steve.

“Alright,” he says, trying to sound authoritative, “Steve, do you want baby carrots?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, put it into the cart. Let’s go look for the nood—“

“ _Ramen_!” Nancy cries and before Jonathan can blink, she’s surging forward, pulling Steve along with her who squeals purely because she does.

Shoving his hands into his pockets and trailing behind them, he wonders how they have all this goddamned energy. Nancy and Steve have always been extraverted to begin with, but _this_ is double the energy _._ But even as he pants towards them, catching up at the snacks aisle, he finds the corners of his mouth twitching upwards anyways. He peers into the cart and sees ten different bars of chocolate and fifteen packets of Ramen, and, well—at least they chose his favourite kind.

They stroll into the cleaning aisle for some reason, Steve humming thoughtfully as he examines a bottle of air freshener. “Our living room has started to smell like shit.”

“Maybe because of the four-feet tall pile of dirty dishes in the sink,” Jonathan says from behind them.

Nancy gasps, like she’s shocked to find him here, and buries herself into his right side. “I lost you.”

“No, you ran _away_ from me. I lost _you._ ”

“Same thing,” she dismisses, her voice muffled into his chest. She clings onto him as they continue down the aisle; he has no fucking idea _why_ they’re in the section to begin with, not like anyone works at a grocery store with a _thirty percent discount_ (Jonathan reminds them about this every time they go grocery shopping and continue to go to Walmart anyway), but Steve looks intrigued by the products, which, yeah, is a little weird.

“Hey, I’ve heard of this bleach brand. From what I’ve heard, I could _definitely_ get away with killing the both of you.”

Jonathan clears his throat and gives the cart a push, sliding it further down the aisle and out of Steve’s grasp. “Oops,” he deadpans at Steve’s offended look.

Jonathan manages to get them out of the cleaning aisle— _Jonathan, what the fuck, I want my clothes to smell like Apple Mango Tango_ —and grab a bulk of noodles. When he turns to his right to drop the bulk it alongside the rest of the shit Nancy and Steve picked out, they’re gone with the cart.

“What the _fuck?_ ” He skips down the end of the aisle, rapidly looking back and forth, only to see Steve pushing the cart down the frozen food sections with Nancy inside.

His mouth cracks into a smile and the quality of the camera on his phone will do. When Steve’s had his turn screaming past fish sticks, Jonathan cuts their fun short, miraculously able to resist their pouts.

They have ingredients for sauce back at Nancy and Steve’s place, so he steers the cart toward the one register out of ten that’s open, swerving the corner when Nancy shrieks.

“There are _books,_ ” she promptly declares, and holy shit, they’re never leaving.

Steve follows her like it’s as natural as breathing, and Jonathan’s tempted to curl up into a ball in the shopping cart. It’s not even that he’s tired, even though his feet do ache with each step; he just wants to lay in bed with them, wants to curl up and cuddle, wants to fall asleep watching some shitty rom-com where they scream at the characters and fling popcorn at the screen. It’s one of _those_ nights.

But he doesn’t complain, holds his tongue, and waits.

Steve’s the one who breaks five minutes later, his hand stretching to cover his mouth as he yawns.

“Tired?”

He places the book back on the shelf, blinking rapidly as he lumbers over to Jonathan, wrapping his arms around his waist. “No,” he says, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes.

“ _Liar._ ”

He meets Nancy’s eyes when she looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Ready to go?”

She tucks the fantasy book back between two books and tucks herself next to Steve, reaching around his back to sling an arm on his waist. “Mhm.”

_Finally._

He pushes the shopping cart towards the one cashier, the three of them carefully angling themselves to adjust to the cramped space.

“Toblerone!”

“Dude, are those M&M’s—”

One by one, they drop _more_ bars of chocolate onto the conveyor belt, Jonathan inwardly cursing at the “get five for the price of one” deal slapped onto a sign above the plethora of sweets and magazines.

The cashier flashes him an apologetic grimace as he starts scanning their products.

“Okay,” Jonathan says, carefully grabbing Nancy’s wrist as she reaches for a Hershey’s bar. “I think you’re both forgetting that we all have _part-time_ jobs and live in New York. Let’s calm down on the sugar, yeah?”  
Steve elbows him as he shuffles down the limited space to start packing the plastic bags. “But you like when we give you sugar, don’t you, Johnny Boy?”

“Dork,” he laughs.

The cashier rings the products and says through a yawn, “Fifty forty,” which sounds about right.

He waits for someone’s debit card to pop out, and when the cashier continues to stare blankly at them, he directs his gaze towards Steve and Nancy. “Guys. Where’s the money?”

“ _I_ didn’t bring anything,” Steve says.

“I figured one of you would bring your wallets!”

“You’re the reason we’re _here,_ Nancy!”  

He scrummages through his pockets, thankful to find a crumpled twenty and a ten in the pockets of his jeans, Nancy and Steve covering the rest with an excess amount of change.

“You have _ten dollars_ in change?” Nancy asks incredulously while they pack their belongings into the plastic bags. “Why?”

Steve shrugs. “Saved our asses, didn’t it?”

“As if it we couldn’t just, oh, I don’t know, not bought the three bags of salt and vinegar chips? Like. Salt and vinegar. That’s … that’s fucking disgusting.”

Steve gasps, offended as they step out into the cold, brisk air. “You take that back,” he huffs, grip tightening on the plastic bag in his hand.

“And you rip on me for liking pineapple pizza,” Nancy says under her breath, darting a flat look at Steve.

“Because that’s an abomination,” Steve says, last syllable breaking with a yelp when Nancy swats his back with her bag. “I”m not wrong!”

“He isn’t,” Jonathan says, and dodges her attempted hit.

They sober up on the way back, much to Jonathan’s relief. Not that he doesn’t adore their tipsy sides and the extra bundles of affection they cover him with, it takes a certain amount of energy to keep up with him that he lacks at one in the morning.

Nancy plays music in the kitchen as they lounge around, waiting for Steve to finish the pasta. Steve sings terribly from behind the stove, his voice cracking with mostly incorrect lyrics.

“I hope you know I have about five minutes of blackmail material,” Nancy says from the couch, carding her fingers through Jonathan’s hair.

“It’s only blackmail if I’m embarrassed about it. I could give Mariah a run for her money.”

Jonathan snorts into Nancy’s lap. “More cooking, please.”

The song changes and George Michael’s _Freedom_ plays, Nancy hopping off quick enough that Jonathan nearly falls to the floor. “Dance with me!”

Jonathan deadpans, “No!”

She rolls her eyes, standing in front of him with a hand propped on her hip. “Jonathan.”

“Nancy,” he replies just as flatly, “I don’t dance.”

“Bullshit! Remember that time we went to that club on sixth avenue?” Steve pipes up, looking over his shoulder. The pot in front of him sizzles, and it’s not a coincidence that his stomach growls.

He groans, curling further into the couch. “That wasn’t dancing! That was … reluctant swaying and neither of you would let me sit down, and it’s really hard to object to seeing you two grinding like that. Jus’ saying. And god, I looked so fucking _stupid._ ”

“I thought you looked sexy.”

“You’re not going to flatter me into dancing.”

She licks her lips and before Jonathan knows it, she’s hauling him off the cushion. “Guess I’ll have to force you.”

“You are _freakishly_ strong,” he grunts when she tugs him out into the room’s centre.

“And freakishly stubborn. C’m _oooon._ I’m your girlfriend. You’re not supposed to be able to resist me. Please?”

Fuck it. _Fuck it._ He clears his throat, and hoping he’s not as off-key as Steve, belts, “‘Cause I would really, really love to stick around, oh yeah,” and extends his hand out.

“That’s our boy.” Jonathan can hear the grin in Steve’s voice as he and Nancy “dance”, which mostly means they’re erratically moving around within a foot of each other.

He twirls her around a couple of times, and she lifts her hand up to his and squeezes.

“See? Good dancer.”

“Nah, _terrible_ dancer. But I do like dancing with you, though.”

They’re part-way through the macarena since it’s the only dance move Jonathan knows (and can kind of do, the freaking hip-part throws him off) when Steve shouts, “Take back your picture in the fraaaame.”

“Take back your singing in the _rain._ ”

Jonathan can’t help himself when he sings, letting Nancy spin him around. “I just hope you understand …”

And it fills him with such an inexplicable joy when they all burst out together, “Sometimes the clothes do not make the man!” that he feels warm and light and _good_ all over.

  
  
  
  


Later, they’re sprawled on the couch, feet and thighs poking everywhere with plates of pasta like _that’s_ a good idea when they’re all laid on each other.

Nancy sets her plate onto the floor and proceeds to smother Steve with kisses in gratitude for his platter. “You’re like. The _best._ Okay?”

“Mm, I know, but tell me again.” Steve sleepily smiles as Nancy tucks her head in his neck, the sight swelling his heart. He’s so cozy, so comfortable, he wouldn’t mind falling asleep on the couch—

“ _Fuck,_ ” Jonathan blurts out, catching himself from drifting to sleep. He sits a little straighter, desperately not wanting to move from underneath Nancy and Steve.

Nancy’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“I need to go to my place and brush my teeth.” He starts to shuffle out from underneath their legs, but both of them reach out and grab his wrists.

“No.”

“ _Stay._ ”

“But dental hygiene—”

“It’s such bullshit,” Nancy grumbles.

“What, taking care of your teeth?”

“No, Steve, the fact that Jonathan still has to go to his apartment even though he’s here ninety-percent of the time. Most of your stuff’s here anyway, and there’s honestly no point of him living by himself, especially in the apartment across from ours.”

Jonathan doesn’t know if he’s hearing it or not, if it’s the exhaustion getting to him, and he ignores the thumping in his chest and asks, “Nancy, are you asking me to move in?”

“Well …” Her eyes flick to Steve’s. “Shit, I should’ve talked to you about this, but I mean … it’s not that big of a jump, is it?  Unless, unless you think it’s too soon.”

Steve jumps in, sounding just as nervous as Nancy. “I mean, we spend all of our time here, you’re never at your place, plus, it’d cut down on costs, and—and it’s not too soon or anything. You’ve been in our lives for six months and I don't see you leaving anytime soon.”  

This isn’t how he expected a conversation like this to go, at half past one, stemming from him needing to brush his fucking teeth. But then again, he never expected to find himself in love with Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington, so really, fuck expectations. “I don’t plan on leaving anytime, either. I’m game.”

They’re a mess of giggles and kisses and Jonathan has to force himself to tear away from them to dart to his apartment. It’ll probably be a week or two—or not, he doesn’t know how any of this works—before he’s actually gone, but he looks around the apartment with a wistfulness.

But the place hasn’t really been much, anyway, just a place where he’d sleep and hang around when he wasn’t in class or with them.

It was never a home, not like Steve and Nancy are, so he quickly brushes his teeth and nearly runs back to their apartment, and fails at hiding his grin at how it’ll soon be _his,_ too.

 


End file.
